


Fractured Reality

by nectarimperial



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:21:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3904555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nectarimperial/pseuds/nectarimperial
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither Julius nor Rideaux know what the future holds. All they do know, is that they belong with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fractured Reality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuwaesthetic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuwaesthetic/gifts).



> Mmmm, happy birthday boo! I hope it's a great one and that this is sorta/kinda what you wanted! Sorry that's heavy on the feels ;n;. ILU!

“Oh stop trying to cheer me up,” Rideaux says into his lowball glass, flicking his wrist, the ball of ice swirling around in the dark liquor, clinking softly. “How’d you know where I was, anyway?” He asks, turning on the barstool, long black hair falling over his shoulders like a funerary veil, blond highlights framing his face.  
  
Julius shrugs and orders an Ex Machina whiskey (neat—he clarifies) and leans his chin on his hand, shrugging his shoulders, “I know you—and believe me, I’m not here to ‘cheer you up.’”  
  
Laughing into his glass, Rideaux downs the rest of his drink and gives a small shudder of his slim shoulders, coughing at the taste. He doesn’t hesitate ordering another one, and the bartender brings him the same order as before, setting it in front of him. Rideaux picks it up and scrutinizes the amber liquid, examining Julius through the liquor, “So why are you here? I didn’t think wanted criminals and terrorists had any business hanging around in bars,” he sneers.  
  
“So turn me in,” Julius says and shoots his whiskey back, slamming the glass on the wood bar, immediately asking for a second order, “I won’t stop you. Turn me over to Bisley right now.”  
  
Rideaux inhales sharply and glares at Julius out of the corner of his eye before downing the rest of his drink, waving his hand for a third, “I can’t do that,” he spits. “Knowing you, this is all part of your grand plan and I’m going to end up on the chopping block.”  
  
It makes Julius laugh, deep and hollow, and it reverberates in his glass as he sputters the whiskey down, “Oh please, you take me for a mastermind.” The bartender’s figured the two of them out by now, and resorts to filling their glasses when they’re empty. Picking up the whiskey, Julius nudges Rideaux in the shoulder, “You know that’s always been you.”  
  
“Stop it,” Rideaux snaps and turns away, sipping his liquor, sometimes giving Julius a pointed look out of the corner of his eye, “You never answered my question.”  
  
Julius smiles, and it’s so sincere and genuine it almost makes Rideaux’s heart skip a beat, and he looks over at him, eyes wide. He doesn’t really know how to react, so he does the only thing he can think of and shoots the rest of his alcohol, drowning his emotions at the bottom of the glass. Julius pulls off his glove and the sight of his blackening fingers makes Rideaux’s stomach twist and pull in all different directions. How _dare_ he come in here and remind him of—  
  
“I just wanted to see you,” Julius says, reaching his shaking hand out, tucking some of Rideaux’s hair behind his ear, “We’re both dead men walking, hm?”  
  
Rideaux doesn’t know if it’s Julius’ words ( _hopefully not,_ his brain says) or the alcohol, or even his own emotions—just as convoluted and messy as they were the first time they kissed, fourteen and fifteen standing drenched in blood, fractured dimension collapsing around them as they held on to each other as though they’d fall if they let go, but he closes the space between them, capturing Julius’ lips beneath his own.  
  
Clutching the sides of Rideaux’s face, Julius kisses him back, and he tastes like the strong whiskey he’d been downing all night. Rideaux isn’t kind - he tears at Julius, desperate and uncontrolled, nails digging into Julius’ waist, finding their way underneath his shirt, and neither of them care that they’re sitting liplocked in a seedy bar in Duval, bartender clearing his throat over them.

“You uh, you two want to close your tab?” He asks, and Rideaux shoves Julius away, hard enough for the other man to nearly fall off his barstool, but he just laughs. He just laughs, warm and velvety, like they weren’t approaching the end of the world. Like everything was going to be okay.  
  
Julius grabs his wallet and throws enough cash on the counter for the both of them plus a sizeable tip and grabs Rideaux by the hand, dragging him outside of the bar to the nearest inn.  
  
*  
  
It’s raining hard in Duval when the bar door slams closed, alcohol finally catching up to them as they stumble down the sidewalks, Julius holding Rideaux upright by his slim waist as he laughs against Julius’ shoulder, long hair falling around them. He lamented that it wouldn’t be straight by the time they made it to the inn, but Julius kissed the raindrops off his face and told him to be quiet. 

Finally approaching the counter in the lobby, Julius had to completely support Rideaux’s weight in his arms, the both of them drenched by the rain. Rideaux carelessly sank his teeth in his neck, the woman at the desk trying her hardest to maintain her focus.  
  
“One?” She asks, typing into her computer, pulling up images on her spyrix device. Julius nods and she provides the keys in record time, Rideaux getting increasingly more uncontrollable the longer they stood rain-drenched in the front lobby of the building, wrapping his arms around Julius’ neck, whispering all the things they were going to do in, well, nothing remotely close to a whisper.  
  
“Quiet,” Julius says and squeezes his stomach, trying to get him to stop, partially carrying him, partially leading him to the elevators, “People are going to get the wrong idea.”  
  
“Let them,” Rideaux responds as the doors to the elevator shut.  
  
*  
  
It doesn’t take long for them to undress—Rideaux partially stripping Julius in the elevator ride up to the eighth floor, yelling at the cleaning staff that looked too long as Julius frantically tried to unlock the hotel room door, fumbling with Rideaux in one arm and the key in the other.  
  
When they finally made it into the room, Julius had been completely stripped of his clothes, and Rideaux wasn’t too far behind as they desperately grinded their bodies against one another, pausing only when Rideaux slammed Julius against the wall, dragging his teeth down his neck in giant sweeps, leaving a smatter of raised flesh in his wake.

By now, they were lying on the bed, Rideaux naked and straddling Julius’ hips, leaning over to suck on his neck, frantic and distressed, the words, _we’re both dead men walking_ wracking his brain as he bit down harder into the flesh of Julius’ neck. For a second, Rideaux wonders if he’s being too harsh, but realizes he doesn’t give a damn when Julius moans underneath him, wrapping his hand in his hair.

“Harder,” Julius pleads, and Rideaux complies, sinking his teeth down until it was nearly enough to draw blood, his senses dull and his reactions slurred, but Julius can take the pain—Rideaux knows that. He knew that the first time they did this, and he knew it now. Nothing changed in their fourteen years together, and he didn’t know whether he loved or abhorred it, but regardless, Julius is and was always his constant. Julius is what kept him grounded.  
  
“You’re fucking—Goddamn it,” Rideaux says and flicks his hair over his shoulder, biting down, leaving a mark big enough that he’ll remember it for days. He’ll remember it until the world fades away and the only thing they have is each other, desperately clinging on to the hope that someday things might be normal again.

 _As if it was ever normal to begin with_. Rideaux pulls back, sitting upright, grinding their bodies together, looking down though half-lidded eyes, biting the corner of his lip, “Just wanted to see me, huh?”  
  
“Fuck off,” Julius says and grabs his hips, digging his fingernails hard into his protruding hipbone. He looks beautiful—but then again, when doesn’t he? Julius remembers the first time he’d gotten Rideaux completely naked.

They’d been standing in an inn in a fractured dimension, moonlight streaming in from the window as the city twisted around them, dark and brooding. Rideaux hadn’t wanted Julius to see his scars, made a show of hiding in the darkness or behind his hair and Julius had kissed every single one, telling him there was nothing to be afraid of—Julius wouldn’t let him fall, and if he did, he’d be right there with him.  
  
Sometimes Rideaux wondered if he meant it, and, as he grinds their bodies together, decides that if he didn’t, Rideaux didn’t want to know, falling against Julius’ firm chest, gasping and breathless with lust, “I want to—fuck,” he says as Julius rolls his hips, his cock brushing the inner part of Rideaux’s thighs, and he’s having a hard time controlling himself, cock slicked with his precum, leaving a streak of wetness across Julius stomach.  
  
“I don’t have any—“ Julius starts to say, and Rideaux presses a finger to his lips, sliding down his body. He can’t remember the last time they’d managed to spend time together like this—uncontrolled and unrestricted, focused on only their desires and passions and slides Julius’ cock down his throat, tongue tracing circles around his shaft. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love taking Julius like this, thickness just the perfect girth in his mouth. 

Bucking his hips upward, Julius moans and shoots his hands to Rideaux’s hair, tugging it between his fingers. It’s still damp, slightly wavy and voluminous from the moisture, a contrast to it’s usually stick-straight immaculate state, but it looks beautiful all the same. He’d always liked how pretty it looked when it was natural, when Rideaux was too sweat-soaked to care, hair falling in messy waves over his naked torso, and it makes Julius groan, tugging sharply on his roots, pressing his head further down on him.  
  
“Oh, you think I’m going to listen?” Rideaux asks, but takes Julius as deep as he’s able to regardless - not because Julius asked him to, but because he wants to. Because he missed this intimacy, he missed their closeness, he missed being able to do this with him and, fuck, if this was the last time they’d ever be able to do this, Rideaux never wanted to forget.  
  
Pulling away when he’s finally satisfied with the amount of saliva coating Julius’ cock, he moves back to his original position, kneeling over him, and holds himself upright, using Julius’ chest as leverage.  
  
“Are you serious—“ Julius starts, but Rideaux leans forward and tears at his lips, positioning himself as he pushes himself down on Julius’ cock slicked with precum and his own— _Rideaux’s own_ fucking saliva, and it burns and it tears but not as much as the pit in his stomach when Julius brings his hand up to grab his hip, fingers black with his sin. Black with his Chromatus use, black with his sickness, black with his death, black with the reminder that this moment was transient and imperfect and things were never, ever going to be the same.

But then again, Rideaux knew that.  
  
So he pushes the thought to the back of his mind, shoving himself up and down on Julius’ cock, using his chest as leverage, throwing his hair back over his shoulders and looks down at him in the dim lighting of the hotel room, golden eyes matching the smirk across his lips. He rides him like it’s the only thing he knows how to do because the pain and the pleasure are worth every millisecond they spend together. 

Rideaux hates that he cares, but he knows he’d hate himself more if he tried to lie to himself that Julius _wasn’t_ worth it, and falls forward, rolling his hips back and forth, Julius’ thick cock filling him up like nothing else ever would, and he collapses against his chest, moaning into his ear.  
  
Julius bends his knees and thrusts into him, holding Rideaux’s body close to his chest, whispering nonsense into his ear. Whispering lies and exaggerations and promises that would never come to fruition so long as they were both dead men walking, holding each other in their sin-stained arms.  
  
_‘You mean the world to me.’_ Julius whispers against his skin.

 _‘I’d destroy a thousand more dimensions just to be with you.’_ Rideaux replies.

_‘I’ll never stop loving you.’_

_‘You’re the only one that makes me feel alive.’_

They’re lies—or perhaps they’re not. Maybe they’re the truth manifested in the conjunction between desire and drunkenness, displayed for the entire world to see. Maybe they’re the reality hidden at the bottoms of their souls, never revealing themselves into the future they knew would never exist so long as they lived, walking corpses and pawns for a power greater than either of them could control.  
  
So Rideaux holds on. Rideaux holds on to Julius’ broad shoulders and shoves himself against his cock, mind drunk with alcohol and lust and _love_ and moans into Julius’ neck, biting and sucking and wanting him to remember. If he remembered Rideaux, he’d never truly die. He’d live with him forever after the world came crashing around them. Like the first time they kissed. Like the first time they fucked. Like the first and last time they’d ever be together.  
  
It doesn’t take long before Julius is thrusting inside of him, crying Rideaux’s name into the open space of the hotel room, nails running up and down Rideaux’s spine as his fingertips grazed the raised flesh. It doesn’t take long before the friction between their bodies is too much for Rideaux to bear and he comes too, spilling against Julius’ chest, stickiness forming between their bodies.  
  
And for the first time in a long time, Rideaux cries. He presses his head to Julius shoulder and lets him wrap his arms around his shaking body, wrecked with the knowledge of their futures and the impending reality that they’d both bear witness to in a shorter time than either of them imagined.  
  
Julius doesn’t lie. Julius doesn’t run his fingers up and down Rideaux’s spine and tell him it’s going to be okay, because he knows that nothing is ever going to be the same. He knew that the day they’d first kissed and he knows it now. So he holds on, too. He holds on to Rideaux’s trembling shoulders and kisses the top of Rideaux’s sweat-soaked hair and whispers:  
  
_I love you._  
  
Over and over again until Rideaux believes it himself. Until Rideaux’s whispering it too. Until he’s crying it into Julius’ shoulder:  
  
_I love you too._  
  
And they stay together like that. They hold each other in the dark hotel room, neither one making a move to untangle their bodies. Neither one making any attempt to change the situation, to change the subject, to pretend that what they said was a figment of their imaginations because for the first time since they kissed, they believed it.  
  
They believed in each other. They believed in the reality that they had something more. They believed that no matter what happened, there wasn’t anything anyone could do to take it away from them, so they held on tighter. They held on and Rideaux laughs.  
  
“All it took was a little alcohol, hm?” he says at last, and Julius chuckles against the top of his head.  
  
“Or a lot of alcohol,” Julius murmurs, running his fingers through Rideaux’s hair. Rideaux’s satisfied enough with this answer and flutters his eyelids closed. After all, if this is the beginning of the end, he wants to do anything he can to remember the moment as he remembered it—perfectly imperfect, hanging in the balance between right and wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!!


End file.
